Paranoia and Insecurity
by JustMakeLeftTurns
Summary: "The knife must have slipped. Now he had tomato all over his hands. Shiny, shiny red. Coming from his hand?" Warning: drugs, alcohol, attempted suicide. Twoshot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Spamano is my OTP at ze moment, so I wrote this! It was written at midnight, so please excuse the lack of quality. And plot.**

**BTW, I've never been drugged, seen anyone high in person, drank, or seen anyone drunk in person. **_**Please**_** excuse my attempt at slurred speech.**

**This is also my first Hetalia fic. Everyone is OOC, but I like angsty!Romano. I'll do better next time. Promise.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. *sob* So…many…sexy…men…! *Hetalia characters back away***

**OoOoOo**

Damn tomato bastard. He's never around. Not when he needs it. Not that he'd ever admit it. He clenched his jaw. Why bother admitting anything when he was only going to get hurt? There was no point.

He stormed into the bar, set on flirting with the ladies while getting completely drunk. For awhile, it worked. All thoughts of Spain were gone from his mind. That is, until he saw Prussia.

The Italian growled. The damn Spaniard was friends with the Prussian. And the thoughts – those forbidden thoughts – those _sinful_ thoughts – they all rushed into his head, forcing him to see images that a man – _especially_ him – should never _want_ to see. He clutched at his cross. Only the tomato bastard could make him like this. He grit his teeth. Spain was going to get tired of him sooner or later. The same would happen vice versa.

But a part of him didn't want to –

Dio, what was he thinking! He lifted a drink to his mouth – though he was positive he hadn't asked for it – and drank. It wasn't long before he lost count of how many drinks he'd had, how many people he'd cussed out. But he was too lightheaded to just be drunk. He swore – slurred, rather. He'd probably been drugged. He giggled. Not that he cared. It meant someone wasn't going to abandon him. Someone liked him – or, rather, his body. So he didn't put up much of a fight when someone started to lead him away.

Hands. Coldcoldcold, they unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his belt. He grinned. Giggled. Someone wanted him. _Someone _wanted _him_. Didn't resist lips on his mouth, hands on his crotch. Moaned. Bucked. Sinsinsin – his cross heavy. Tears – don't fall! Handshandshands – grin.

Hands. Gone. Eyes. Red – like a tomato. Giggle. Kiss – sloppy. Missed. Hands – new hands – pushed him, held him still.

"I know I'm awesome, but what the hell is wrong with you?"

Giggle. Smile. He doesn't know. Doesn't know the sinsinsin – they'll be gone anyway, soon.

"W-what'ssss _not_ w-wrong with m-me?"

Grabs the cross. Waves it. Stumbles. Giggles.

"I-I'm s-sso wronggg. Can't be religiousss r-right."

The other's stopped listening. Holds his phone to his ear. He hears the name "'Tonio." Grabs for the phone – stumbles.

"D-don't call 'T-Tonio. D-doesn't knoww. He'll leave sssoon. Everyone d-does."

He gives up. Stumbles. Makes his way home. The other didn't follow him.

Sees red ripe tomatoes. Smiles. Spain likes them. He'll cut them. Then Spain can – Pain. Painpainpain. Not much. Feels silly. Tilts head. Confused.

He looks down at his hand. Giggles. The knife must have slipped. Now he had tomato all over his hands. Smiled widely. It's so thick. Bright. Must be a good one. Shiny, shiny red. Coming from his hand? There's tomato in his hand! Him and Spain could have lots of tomato – but he needs to get it out first. Looks to the knife. Brings it across his wrist. Redredred.

Collapses. Giggles. The room's all topsy-turvy. What was he doing again? Sees the red. More. Across his arms. Pretty, ripe, _perfect_.

Comes off his high. For the most part. Sees the bloodbloodblood. The knife. Why are his cheeks wet? Dizzy. Tired. Giggles. Time for a siesta.

**OoOoOo**

**Good? Bad? Should I write a second part? (No promises I'll write it though. *hides from "Sinking" readers still waiting for a sequel*) Let me know what I can improve on! I love writing; I want to get better at it. Thanks!**

**And sorry if this is a bit confusing…I'm trying a different style of writing than what I usually do.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I…actually have a second part. *readers gasp; 'Sinking' readers pick up their pitchforks* I'm not really proud of how this went. My excuse is that I've been writing the past four nights … Stupid insomnia.**

**However, one of the things I've written is either going to be posted later or tomorrow! (hopefully) I'm prouder of that one than this.**

**But you don't care about that. Here's part the second!**

**OoOoOo**

He opened his eyes. Where was he? Did he end up in someone's bed again? Blink. Blink. Wait, what was that beeping sound? And there was something in his hand…He turned his head – why was it so hard to do that? – and looked at his hand. Eyes widened.

Spain. Spain. The damn tomato bastard was _right there_, _holding_ his _hand_.

The first thought that came into his head was, Spain needs to stop being so damn clingy! It was obvious that the Spaniard was going to leave him eventually. Everybody did. So he needs to _leaveleaveleave_. Forever. Get the _cazzo_* away from him.

The second thought was, He's holding my hand. He cares. He cares, he cares he cares he cares. No matter how many times he's insulted the Spaniard, he's still _theretherethere_. He feels tears in his eyes. He blinks. No way was he going to be an emotional bastard. That was Veneziano's job, not his. He grips Spain's hand in return – his formers Boss stirs – before he rips his hand back, brings it to his neck – _his cross where is his cross –_

Tears fill his eyes, this time for a different reason. _Dio, forgive me, help me, cure me, fix me…_ He doesn't want to sin. He wants to be a good Catholic. But how can he when he feels this way about Spain – He's crying and muttering in broken Italian. He doesn't notice that bandages on his arm or the fact that Spain is waking up.

He notices the latter when the Spaniard gives him an awkward hug. His face is buried in the Italian's neck – he can feel tears on his skin, feel the man's lips moving as he speaks words he can't decipher and he wants those lips to be doing other things _things that he shouldn't want from another man_. He cries harder, pushes the other nation away, puts his hands to his face in an attempt to save whatever dignity he had left as he cried – why couldn't he stop crying?

"Romano, Lovino, my _tomatito_**." The Spaniard is sitting close to him – _too close go away stop making me this way!_ "What's wrong? Why would you do this to yourself?"

He only cries harder because the other just _doesn't understand will never understand_. He mutters to himself – he doesn't even know what language he's speaking anymore – and something must have been understood by Spain because he's being hugged again and Spain's talking again –

"This isn't wrong, Lovi. It's not wrong to love. It's okay. It's okay. I'm not going to leave you. Oh, Lovi…"

_It's always wrong has always been wrong it's a sinsinsin –_

Spain takes his hands away from his face, kisses his palms, his wrists. He leans closer to the Italian's face, kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin – _so close so close kiss me kiss me leaveleaveleave_.

"God wants us to be happy. _Por favor_*** … How long have you been thinking that this is wrong? How long have you felt like I was going to leave…?"

He wants to answer. He really does. But he turns his head away, closes his eyes. He's already made a fool of himself. He blames whatever medication he was given – was he even given any? – oh well, he'll say he was on something, to make an excuse as to why he wasn't hiding behind his mask.

He doesn't know what Spain wants from him, doesn't know what God wants from him, doesn't even know what he himself wants. He doesn't react when Spain hugs him again. Doesn't react when he inched closer to the Italian. He didn't react when he felt Spain's lips on his.

He wasn't ready yet. He might never be ready. He wasn't sure what's wrong or right. But maybe in a hundred years he'll have an idea.

**OoOoOo**

**Lame ending is lame.**

**I had no clue where this was going. Like I said before, I was testing a new writing style. And in no way do I think being homosexual is wrong, just making that clear. Apparently Italy is a very Catholic country, and I've read stories where Romano is deeply affected by this since he has feelings for Spain. Sooo…I wanted to give it a try. But go read those stories. They're a whole lot better than mine! *sweatdrop***

**Translations:**

**Cazzo – fuck **_**(Italian)**_

**Tomatito – little tomato **_**(Spanish)**_

**Por favor – please **_**(Spanish)**_

**I don't know any relevant Italian. And I have no idea if that's how you say 'little tomato' (I've seen people use 3 different ways to say it. This is how I see it 'cuz I take Spanish … but in no way am I saying it's correct). If anyone is fluent in Italian or Spanish, PLEASE correct me! I'm in love with languages! I want to know how to write (and speak) in different languages **_**without**_** making a fool of myself!**

**Haha, anyway, review! Please?**


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